


here is the deepest secret nobody knows

by witchertrashbag (intothegarbagechute)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Four Seasons Total Landscaping AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/pseuds/witchertrashbag
Summary: Yennefer and Jaskier are enemies with benefits who've worked across the street from one another for years. But when the landscaping business next to Jaskier's (father's) adult book shop hires a new manager, Geralt, the two start a bet to see who can seduce him first.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 52
Kudos: 168
Collections: Read





	here is the deepest secret nobody knows

**Author's Note:**

> **content warnings:** pegging, implied use of sex toys, implied/mentioned masturbation, mention of bondage, not really smut.

The hair on the back of Yennefer’s neck stood up. She glanced through the window, on alert, and narrowed her eyes.

Of course.

The self-styled “bard” who called himself _Jaskier_.

She sipped her baja blast with ire as she watched him slink out of the adult bookshop where he worked (owned by his family, no doubt), his stupid brown hair flopping with every step, and leaned against a wall, pretending to smoke a cigarette.

Yennefer knew he didn’t smoke.

He was doing this because of their bet.

And she knew because-- well it definitely _wasn’t_ from the time they’d both been locking up their respective shops after yet another soul-crushing day on this plane of existence, had been walking to their cars, and from across the street, he’d raised a bottle of Jack, an offering. 

Yennefer super definitely didn’t know about Jaskier’s smoking habits (smoking _lies_ ) from when she’d leaned against his car, drunk, watching as he clumsily lit and passed a cigarette to her, then licked his lips as she took it between hers.

Nope, Yennefer didn’t know and remember the way he tasted, sweet and decidedly not like ashes, from the hungry way they’d kissed, which now sparked the memory of his hands across her, of the desperate, almost frightened sounds she’d drawn from him in his car. An activity she was loath to say they had repeated several times in the months since, spurred on with an array of new tools he supplied from the adult bookshop, many of which she’d worked inside him just to see his face as she’d done so.

It had been during a rare bout of conversation, as Yennefer drank and smoked before one such _episode,_ when Jaskier asked if she’d seen the strapping older gentleman who he took to be the new manager at the place next door to the adult book shop. _Geralt_ , he said, and he wielded the name and the notion that he’d already spoken to him like a small knife. Yennefer had seen him, though she wouldn’t call him a gentleman. He looked anything but gentle, she’d told Jaskier with a look meant to cut him back.

It was then that the bet began, over who could seduce the white-haired stranger, _Geralt_ , first-- Yen insisting it was only a fair bet _because_ Jaskier had already made contact. The stakes? Not having to continue whatever it was they were doing together. 

They sealed the pact with a fuck.

Yennefer hadn’t counted on Geralt being quite so stupid, she mused, watching the muscled yet wiry man shuffle from his post, ostensibly on his break, and walk out to Jaskier with a nearly imperceptible limp.

Geralt also didn’t smoke, she noticed. He didn’t smile, though Jaskier’s arms waved about in an exaggerated means of storytelling Yennefer despised. He called himself a bard, a poetaster, though he wrote only pornographic stories he published digitally, under a pseudonym. He truly was _the worst_.

She told him so that very night inside his car, as she thrust her favorite strap into him. He came almost immediately.

\--

The wonderous, colorful universe of the adult bookstore had no windows. It did, however, have exterior security cameras, and lately Jaskier found his eyes-- now normalized to the colorful, glittering array of sex toys, tapes, books, et cetera-- drifting to the screens displaying those feeds.

At first it had been to watch the woman with the violet eyes who worked at the crematorium across the street. A modest façade, which he imagined belied the dark, beautiful comfort of the interior-- one to match the woman who now owned it, Yennefer. From their website and clientele, he knew she’d made the business an option for those with little money but a desire to cherish and honor their dearly departed, as well as those saddled with responsibility but a much more difficult relationship to their dead. 

He was fascinated by everything about her; by the fury behind her eyes, like a molten thing burning as hot as her ovens. He did everything he could to unleash it on himself, to swim in it and discover what lay beneath. He often told her his trade was in le petit mort, and he had no idea how she dealt with so much of the real thing. Come to think, she had offered-- nearly threatened-- to kill him that night. He didn’t doubt that she could.

And the sight that greeted him now on the security feed nearly struck him dead. 

He’d been courting Geralt for nearly two weeks, with witty little texts, teasing touches to his glorious forearms during shared smoke breaks, and (his signature move) a text exchange wherein he’d anxiously asked for Geralt’s opinion on a suspicious mole on his groin, which he’d drawn on himself in eyeliner.

And still, nothing. Geralt had sent him links to a few WebMD pages on various fungi, with his favorite treatment methods, and when Jaskier had asked for photos of these “treatment methods,” thinking maybe he was finally getting somewhere, he’d gotten back two blurry photos of growths on Geralt’s feet. It was almost enough to make him give up the bet. But Jaskier hated to lose.

Which was why something sharp dug into his gut as he watched Geralt-- in Jaskier’s favorite henley, no less, the sleeves pushed up over his forearms-- shuffled across the street and straight to the crematorium. 

Jaskier watched Yennefer greet Geralt at the door, her ample tits displayed divinely in a blouse she knew drove him to distraction. He perhaps embellished Geralt’s blush through the grainy feed of the security camera, but he didn’t imagine Yennefer’s hand pulling him close, her mouth at his ear, whispering to him from beneath her tousled concoction of dark curls. He didn’t imagine her hand on Geralt’s ass.

He did, however, imagine it later that evening as he ate her out in the backseat of his car again, as her sharp nails dug into his scalp. He relished her cry of pleasure, but he cherished the tiny, soft look she gave him after, as he wiped her from his face. 

“Seems like you might win soon,” he told her.

“Yeah,” she said, still breathless.

“Then I guess we won’t be doing... _this_... anymore, huh?”

“Yeah.”

They both stared out the windshield at the dark night, certain the sudden chill had been ushered in by the start of November herself, and not anything else.

\--

Geralt was trying his best.

A fresh start at a company with kind employers. Some stability for his daughter in a new city. And although his job scheduling and answering phones wasn’t his strong suit, the company had room for growth and he expected to be out working with plants again soon.

Then he’d met Jaskier, followed by Yennefer. Immediately, they both seemed like trouble. The exact thing he was avoiding with this fresh start.

But he found himself noticing Jaskier out, smoking a cigarette (although he wasn’t sure he’d seen him inhale the sordid stuff, actually), and usually then noticed it was time for his ten-minute break and joined him.

He expected that the flamboyant younger man would make him nervous, but something about his exaggerated manners made Geralt more comfortable in his own skin than he’d been in years. Jaskier would often ask him for advice and even send him photos of cuts or skin issues he was concerned about. They had an instant intimacy Geralt supposed Jaskier must have with most people he met. One Geralt was increasingly sure he would ruin, especially when he found himself looking at those innocent photos Jaskier had sent him, asking for _help_ , and felt his cock harden at the sight, at the teasing thought of what was just outside the frame. More shamefully, Geralt found those thoughts flickering into his head as he touched himself in the dark.

Yennefer on the other hand, was-- wow. Obviously she was stunningly beautiful. But the instant he’d laid eyes on her, he’d felt his knee ache, although the sky was clear and the air crisp. He didn’t realize the ache was of a different sort. But he knew, when he looked in her eyes, he felt like a bug pinned for inspection. And for once, he didn’t flinch away, didn’t hate what he saw. The intensity of it, the heat, held him firmly and with a great care he couldn’t explain, and he often felt himself boneless beneath her gaze. Best, he sensed he would never, _could_ never talk about this, and was content to simply feel.

He couldn’t deny that he wished for more. To feel what that gaze would feel like in a warm bed. Geralt had slept with plenty of women-- some said he was a pretty kinky guy-- but late one night, a fantasy so unexpected, so filthy, popped into his head and made him blush as he jerked off: the thought of Yennefer physically tying him up, to match the way she already made him feel inside. 

Between the two of them, working right across the way, Geralt wasn’t doing the best at his job. 

One night, he didn’t realize it was well past closing-- it got dark so early now-- because he staring out the windows, aching for a glimpse of them, when he suddenly realized he’d never seen them together. In fact, he had the distinct sense they hated one another. They’d both worked here much longer than he had. They were bound to know each other, maybe even had some beef between them. 

Geralt started to wonder what these two people, who had quickly become so fixed in his thoughts-- what would happen if they _did_ talk. They were so opposite, yet both so intense. The easy calm he felt with Jaskier, coupled with the intense pressure of Yennefer. Jaskier’s soft touch and her hard stare. But together?

Geralt didn’t have to imagine long. His watchful eyes were rewarded with Jaskier, springing out of his car, parked on the far side of the adult book shop, and _Yennefer getting out of the car._ Geralt watched, stunned, as she adjusted her makeup, at the intense sexual tension between the two. _Had they just been...? In Jaskier’s car...?_ He saw Yennefer slap Jaskier’s ass, hard.

Geralt let out a soft groan and realized, with shock, that his cock was hard and he was pressing against the countertop. He drew in a ragged breath and stepped back. Then he saw _both of them notice the light on his shop was still on and saw him staring at them._

_And they started walking towards him._

Geralt quickly ducked beneath the counter. Worse, the fucking the phone rang, and he snaked his arm up to answer and silence the loud ring.

“Four Seasons Total Landscaping, this is Geralt how can I help you?” he shout-whispered into the line.

He could barely hear or process what was said, just quickly took down the booking and ended the call.

It had been a few minutes. They’d probably both gone. 

As Geralt rose to his feet, he heard the door jingle as it opened. Yennefer and Jaskier both slipped inside.

“Geralt,” Yennefer said. “I think we should talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Four Seasons Total Landscaping is my new hyperfixation and I'm just doing my best to make this work.
> 
> Jaskier works at Fantasy Island adult books.
> 
> Yennefer works at the Delaware Valley Cremation Center.
> 
> Thank you for reading this bullshit, no I will not be writing more


End file.
